


For Tomorrow

by Niccolò Machiavelli (Piccolo_Machiavelli)



Series: Before the Storm, After the Fire [2]
Category: 15th Century CE RPF, 16th Century CE RPF, Historical RPF, Machiavelli - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 17:51:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9196742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piccolo_Machiavelli/pseuds/Niccol%C3%B2%20Machiavelli
Summary: Machiavelli, upon arriving home, receives a mysterious letter.





	

Machiavelli was homebound from one of his missions, humming happily to himself. Normally, he was not in such a cheerful mood, but he had finally gotten time to himself, away from the preoccupations of his native city. An odd breeze was blowing through Firenze, colder than usual, yet it did not put a damper on his mood. He was heading home after a long while away, and despite himself, he missed it.  
He stopped at the door of his house and smiled, counting his blessings for a mere moment before knocking. “Sono io, Marietta,” Machiavelli called out, his bags weighing heavily on his shoulders. Never once had he forgotten to buy them all presents when he was away.

“Il amore mio!”shrieked Marietta, swinging the door open wide and grabbing her husband, pulling him into her tight embrace. “I’ve missed you! Everyone will be so happy to know you’re home-” she looked behind her as several of their children gathered in the doorway to welcome their father.

“Papa!” cried Baccina, pushing past Marietta and hugging her father. “I’m so glad to see you!” she buried her face in his chest, slipping a nimble hand into her father’s knapsack, hoping to pull out a trinket of some sort. “Have you got anything for us?” she grinned and backed away, her fruitless search resulting in nothing.

“Of course I do!” Machiavelli replied, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a bracelet for his daughter, handing it to her with a calloused hand. “You forgot to check the pockets, dear.” He let go of Marietta, greeted the four boys that stood at the front of the house, passing them all little presents, and began to head upstairs. Primerana was already standing at the balcony, her lips pulled into a strained smile as she assumed perfect posture. She held out her hand to her father. Her family knew affection was touch-and-go with her, and Prim seemed to view her siblings as creatures she would treat well if they brought something to the table.

“Ah, salve, Primerana mia,” Machiavelli greeted her, shaking her hand and pressing her slender body into his. “L’onore è mio.”

“I feel so relieved,” Primerana whispered, closing her eyes. She was incredibly close with her father, considering him to be her role model.

Machiavelli passed her a little box. She reached one arm over to grab it, and she opened it eagerly. Inside was a glittering necklace of silver.  
“Grazie, Signore,” Primerana gasped out, unaware that she was addressing her father distantly. She slipped the necklace on, showing the box into her pocket.

Machiavelli chose to ignore this, finding it nothing more than excitement. “How has your mother been getting along?” Machiavelli asked her, running a hand through her hair. As much as Baccina loved her father, there was no denying that Primerana was much closer to him.

“Worried, worried about you, as always. She tries to hide it, but she’s so open with her emotions and she can’t. She still thinks I am too young to handle the truth. I’m tired of being doted on all the time, mollycoddled. I know when you’re gone, and what you do when you’re gone,” she told her father with an odd tone of ominousness in her voice. “And I know about the woman in Verona, by the way.” She grabbed his hand in an almost-suggestive way. 

“You do? How did you find out about that?” Machiavelli cried, realizing he must not have been hiding his affairs as well as he thought. He shuddered when Prim grabbed his hand. What an odd relationship it was that they shared!

“Ha! Caught you,” laughed Prim, letting go of her father’s hand and stepping away from him. “See? Even your own daughter can outsmart you. It was only a test. But now that I know that-” she winked and flashed him a smile - “I’ll keep it a secret. Just between the two of us, right, Father?” What right did this girl have to bait him like this?

“Y-yes,” he stammered, “of course.” He was hoping Primerana wasn't bounding off to tell Marietta about the information she discovered, but knowing the girl, she would be just fine without her.

Primerana rescinded back into the shadows, disappearing as quickly as she had arrived. He stood there, dumbfounded, partly because his daughter was growing up so fast and he couldn’t keep up, and also partly because he didn’t know how he was going to explain to his family that on his way back home, he had received a personal letter from his militia to commence the defence of Prato. The stationery was abnormally fancy for his occupation, since none of his associates had such beautifully-looped cursive, but he thought nothing of it. It would mean nothing more than a formal invitation. A part of him was excited, since he could bring his latest mistress into his office, but he did not long to leave just yet. Machiavelli had just arrived home and had plans to stay a while.

“Buonasera, darling,” a singsong voice sounded. It was none other than Marietta, easily recognized by her cheery tone. She played her fingers along his hips, smiling devilishly. “Why do you stand here like this? Come, husband. Contrary to what you might believe, you may calm yourself for a moment. There has been a deathly chill in the bedroom since you’ve been away.” Machiavelli forced a smile. Marietta adored him and showered him with affection, but he kept himself cold and aloof for the most part. He found it difficult to commit himself to anyone romantically, due to his inability to stay focused on one person and the guard he put up. 

“I don’t know how I’m going to tell the children, but I received this-” he placed the letter in Marietta’s hand- “on the way here. It’s apparently so urgent that a courier flagged me down to deliver it.”

“Ay, no,” Marietta’s smile vanished. “What could be so urgent? Surely you couldn't just stay for a few days? Spend a while with us? Stay, darling; you might disappear forever if you do not.” She tugged on the sleeve of his robes. “Come. Let’s get you into something more comfortable.”

“Per favore, don’t exaggerate!” he pleaded, walking towards the bedroom, clutching his bags tightly. “Gone forever? I always come home. I always will.” He flashed her a brief smile as he set his bags down on the bed. “I’ve left a few presents for you in there, in case you were wondering.”

“Don’t block the bed, we need it to lie on!” cried Marietta, heaving his stuff off of the bed and flinging herself onto it. “I do believe we need to be… reacquainted.” She ran her fingers across her leg, staring at him intently. 

“Remember, darling: I cannot stay,” Machiavelli warned, leaning across the bed to press a chaste kiss to her lips. “Perhaps when I return, as I will stay all the longer for you.” He looked down at the soot-covered robes he was wearing. “Are you going to watch me change out of these or what?”

Marietta was amused by his teasing. “Gladly,” she replied, pulling herself up to get off of the bed, “I’ll even help you.” He let his hands fall to his sides, his heart fluttering. There was something still so exciting about his wife’s charming words. A gentle pair of hands undid his robes, and he closed his eyes, lost entirely at the moment. As he felt them slip off of him, he almost broke his promise and pulled her into his body. He just wanted to hold her and make her happy in any way he could…

A tiny giggle interrupted his thoughts. He gasped and opened his eyes to find Primerana standing in the doorway, tailed by her younger sister, Baccina. Baccina was blushing and covering her mouth. Prim maintained her usual stony expression. “Are you two quite done?” she snapped, disgustedly staring at her mother. “Supper is ready, if you wanted to know.” She tossed a fold of her dress as she led her sister off. 

“So sorry, dear,” Marietta commented, trailing her fingers along her husband’s skin. “I’ll bring you a new set of robes, then.” She walked away from him and pulled his favourite set of regal robes out of a drawer. “Here, you can’t be naked for supper. I’m sure you can understand why that is.” She handed him the robes, and he took them, smiling bashfully. 

“I know full well, Marietta,” he answered, slipping them on. Marietta watched him with a certain sadness in her eyes. There was something about the air that seemed empty when he was away. “Have you been outside at all? A strange breeze blows out there.”

“I was, just this morning, actually. A little cold for Firenze, don’t you think? We seldom have weather like this,” Marietta said, heading through the bedroom door. “Come, dear, may we dine together; and may death be the only thing to keep us apart.”

Once in the dining room, Machiavelli walked over to the head of the table, yanking on the edges of the tablecloth, his perfectionist ways causing the lopsided thing to bother him greatly. Primerana brought him a bowl of soup with a malicious smirk on her face; she would likely argue that it was her natural expression, but it frightened some people off. Baccina came out into the dining room, laughing and being chased by her brothers: Lodovico, Guido, Bernardo, and Piero. They streamed in a line over to the table, chatting and slamming their bowls down. Marietta and the rowdy children sat down. Machiavelli finally took a seat, only for his daughter to stand up until he had finished. 

“Prim, uh-” Machiavelli was at a loss for words. He laughed, since she was the only one standing. “Take a seat. Relax yourself.”

“I only wanted to show you a bit of respect, Messer- Signor- father, um…,” she stammered, watching as her siblings’ faces contorted in confusion. “Mi dispiace.”

“You’re fine,” he responded, offering her leave to sit if it was what she was waiting for. At last, she did.

“Eat!” cried Baccina, raising her spoon. “Mama will tell you, I’m sure of it, I helped make this! Don’t let it grow cold! There’s plenty to go around.”

“Sì,” chimed in Lodovico, “You can even have more with us tomorrow, Father!”

Machiavelli felt himself cringe. His family was so delighted that he had returned home, and he now had to tell them he could not stay. He decided he would wait until after dinner so he would not upset the children.

“Actually, he wanted to tell you all something. Something most unfortunate it is, but it is of pressing importance,” Marietta announced, clapping her hands together. Internally, he was screaming. Why did his wife always have to do this to him?

“I… uh…,” he did not know to how to answer. The noisy table had fallen silent, waiting for him to say something. Damn her! There was no backing out of it. “I have been called - summoned, if you will - for my militia. They have requested of me to be there tomorrow.”

The usual chorus of “Ay, no’s” rang around the room. The children had managed to synchronize it as if they rehearsed it each time he left. Primerana - per usual - never joined in, and hung her head low with a pitiful cry. Why did he always have to leave her with Marietta? To her, Marietta’s tendency to always sugar-coat things and look at the world in an optimistic way was beyond irritating. She preferred the company of her father, who wasn’t afraid to tell the truth and say things as they were.

“Per favore, don’t leave,” begged Primerana, a tear running down her cheek. “You just returned.” Her hands shook horribly as she gripped her bowl.

“I won’t be long,” Machiavelli protested as he attempted to console her. “I won’t. If Fortune favours me, I should be back in a few short days.” He took her hand in his and squeezed it, watching as she visibly relaxed. Marietta was used to Prim’s behaviour once it was time for him to leave. Something about it was very distressing to her. “I may leave at dawn. That way I can come home sooner and stay awhile. It is a wonderful life we have together, is it not?” he smiled, his usually cold demeanour slipping away.

Tomorrow. It is tomorrow at dawn when I set off. I leave as the sun is rising, accompanied by nothing but my racing thoughts. Something great - although I know not what - awaits me out there, but for now, it is the night, and Fortune will have to satisfy herself for a short while longer.  
For tomorrow.


End file.
